Fate
by lilatheintrovert
Summary: Richard McIntire never considered himself to be lucky. If anything, he figured he was Fate's least favorite McIntire. That's what made the events of that December morning all the more bizarre.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Richard McIntire never considered himself lucky. In fact, he believed that he was Fate's least favorite McIntire. That was the only way he could justify the misfortunes he'd faced in the past few years; Fate had a score to settle with him. That's what made the events of that December afternoon all the more surprising.

He pulled his threadbare coat closer to his body. Winters in Chicago were cold, fierce, and altogether unbearable. His stomach moaned, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, but he kept on walking down the busy Chicago street. What good was the thought of food if you had no money to pay for the real thing?

It wasn't that he didn't want a job because, in all honesty, he would give anything to put himself to work. He'd been unemployed since he returned from Korea, and he hated feeling lazy and hungry. However, nobody wanted to hire a 22-year-old veteran who lacked the ability to use his left hand.

He didn't blame anyone. He didn't feel vindictive or victimized in any sort of way. Richard McIntire knew that the nation was busy trying to forget what happened in Korea, and as much as he hated being spited for his service, he was used to it by now.

Deep in his thoughts, he pushed his way through the crowded streets.

"Ricky?" The voice was familiar, but he couldn't figure out what from. "Ricky?" He turned to face the voice.

It was a young lady, probably about twenty years old. She was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. Her thin face, framed by auburn hair, lit up when she saw him. "Ricky McIntire! I knew that was you!"

Her accent gave her away. "Emily?" She was taller than he remembered, and her face had lost its girlish roundness, but she still looked like the same old Emily who had stayed with the McIntires so many years ago.

"Of course! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Fancy seeing _me_? Why, _you're_ the one who lives an ocean away!" Emily just laughed. It was a pleasant surprise; Ricky couldn't recall ever hearing her laugh. "Boy, have you changed," he muttered.

"What?" Ricky just shook his head, dismissing the matter. Emily decided it was best to change the subject. "So, how have you been? Gosh, it's been so long. You were only twelve the last time I saw you. Now look at you! I never would have guessed Ricky McIntire would have grown up to be a decent young man."

He grinned. "I'm a 'decent young man?' I think you'll have to write to Jill and Molly and let them know I meet your approval. God knows I don't meet theirs."

Emily's blue eyes lit up at the mention of her old friend. "I will certainly let them know that I find their Ricky rather charming."

"'Their Ricky?' I haven't been called Ricky since I was fourteen! Jill said it was immature and boyish. It's Richard now."

"Well, to me you're still an immature young boy. So you'll remain Ricky." The corners of her mouth quirked up into a sly smile. "Would you fancy having dinner tonight, _Ricky_?"

"Like a date?"

"No, like two old friends catching up. How about we meet here at six?" Ricky nodded. Before leaving, Emily added, "And I expect to see a gentleman tonight. Maybe we can turn Ricky into Richard after all."

Ricky couldn't help but smile as he watched the petite girl leave. Maybe he wasn't so unlucky after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Got a hot date?" Molly leaned against the doorframe, smirking at her older brother.

Richard McIntire was home for the first time in months after looking for a job in Chicago. Though he hadn't said anything since he got home, Molly assumed he hadn't found one. She hadn't seen him looking this awful since he came home from Korea. He stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving the messy stubble on his cheeks. He looked underfed and underweight; Molly could count his ribs.

"It's not a date," Richard said, setting his razor down. Molly followed him down the hall. She was intrigued by her brother's plans. After all, Richard McIntire didn't shave without a valid reason.

"Then why are you all dolled up?" Molly asked.

"Really? This is the first time you've seen me in ages, and you don't even bother to say, 'Hello?'" Richard smirked at his younger sister. "If you really _must_ know, I'm meeting an old friend for dinner in Chicago tonight."

Molly's eyes widened. "Oh! Who? Is it Dolores? Because I can see you getting all dressed up to see Dolores. No, it couldn't be. Is it Susan? She's living near Chicago now. Who? Just tell me!"

Molly took a deep breath to calm herself. Whenever she got overly excited, she tended to get a bit carried away. She was talking a mile a minute, and her face had grown red.

"None of your business, Moll." Richard fumbled with his shirt buttons. Seeing the pained expression on his face, Molly moved forward to help him. "No. I'm not five. I can button my own shirt," snapped Richard.

Molly recoiled at the sharpness in his voice, but quickly recovered. "Okay. Suit yourself." Both Molly and Richard smiled slightly at the pun. Molly began to descend the stairs. "Just holler if you need anything."

"How's your brother?" Mrs. McIntire asked as she slid a pan of bread into the oven. It had been over two years since Mrs. Gilford passed away, but Molly always thought it strange when she saw her own mother cooking. Mrs. McIntire handed Molly a slice of warm banana bread and patted the seat of a kitchen chair.

Molly took a bite. "Mom! This is delicious! Where did you learn to bake this? It's amazing!" She hoped she was able to distract her mother from the question about Richard.

She wasn't. Mrs. McIntire raised an eyebrow. "Molly. Your brother?"

"Stubborn, as usual. He can't button his shirt, but he won't let me help him." Molly sighed.

"That poor boy," said Mrs. McIntire with a sad smile. "Lost more than just the use of his hand in Korea, that's for sure." She was silent for a while, then added, "Moll, please go check on your brother. I'm starting to get a tad bit worried."

Molly walked upstairs, pondering her mother's words. _'Lost more than just the use of his hand?'_ she thought.

She found Richard in his room, wrestling with a tie. His face was contorted in pain and frustration. "Do you want help?" Molly asked, stepping into the room.

This was the first time she'd been in Richard's room since the night before he left for the war. It looked so much different now. No pictures hung on the walls, no basketball trophies lay around, no clothes littered the floor. There was nothing in the room to show that Richard McIntire had spent much of his first eighteen years inside those now-bare walls. It looked so empty and alone. _Sort of like Richard_ , Molly thought.

Her brother must not have heard her; he jumped when he saw her in the doorway. "Go away, Molly. I'm fine."

"Really? And how long have you been fumbling with that thing?" Molly nodded to the tie in his hands and suppressed a smirk.

Richard didn't reply.

"Just let me help you," Molly pleaded. She knew her brother was stubborn—he always had been—but he needed to learn to accept help. He needed to accept the fact that he would never—no, could never— be the same independent man he was before the war.

"I don't need your help." His words were cold and clipped.

Molly felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Gosh, he was so much like Dad. "Please," she said quietly, "I want to help."

Richard sighed. "Fine. But not too tight. It's a tie, not a noose." He handed his tie over in surrender.

Molly smiled and began to knot the tie. "Do you want me to teach you how to tie one of these?"

Richard jutted his jaw out and was silent for a moment before saying, "I know how to tie a tie." His words came out slow and guarded, and Molly could hear the stubbornness in his voice.

She was about to apologize, but the words were stuck in her throat, refusing to come out. Instead, she ran her hand over his shirt, smoothing the little wrinkles. Richard tensed, and Molly remembered that his thin dress shirt was the only thing separating her hand from the gruesome scars on his chest. She removed her hand and moved towards the door.

"Thanks Moll," Richard said, breaking the silence. Molly wasn't sure if he was thanking her for tying his tie or for finally leaving him alone, but she just nodded. "I've got to catch the bus. See you later."

Molly moved to the middle of the door, preventing her brother from leaving. She knew he could easily push her out of the way, but she also knew he wouldn't. Even though he was living in Chicago now, she knew he still felt he had a certain responsibility to be the man of the family, and even shoving her out of the way would make him feel incredibly guilty.

"Are you coming home? Or are you staying in Chicago?" Molly felt her voice crack ever so slightly, and she hoped her brother didn't notice.

At this point, she wanted him to push her out of the way, to blow off her question, to leave the family. If he did, she would at least have the security that he would come home to make amends. He had been gone for so long; she missed him. She missed the old, joke-cracking, prank-playing, button-pressing Richard. The Richard who shoved her out of the way and made fun of her. Molly would do anything for that Richard back.

But he didn't push his way past her. He just stood in the middle of his sad, empty room and stared at her. Silence hung in the air between them. It wasn't a tense silence, but a sad, empty silence that was only broken by Richard saying, "I don't know, Moll."

More silence followed. "How about I promise you that I'll be home for Christmas?" Richard said, breaking the quiet yet again.

He looked at his sister, waiting for an answer. It was quiet for another moment. Suddenly, Molly ran and hugged him tightly. "I missed you."

Richard smiled and hugged her back, his left hand lying limply on her shoulder. "I'll take that as a yes. I'll come back. Promise."


End file.
